


Roses and Smiley Faces

by Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drawing, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mention of Drug Abuse, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Referenced Drug Use, Soul Bond, Soulmates, mentioned drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/pseuds/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage
Summary: The drawing on his wrist had started small, black swirls curled over his wrist that had become a rose. It was pretty, the creator evidently talented in their craft. Little did Greg know, the person on the other end of his soul bond was a lot closer than he'd thought.





	1. The Favour

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is just going to be a quick fire 3 part fic to keep me in practice! Other fic updates I assure readers will be coming soon.

It was only small when Greg had noticed it. The small swirls in what looked to be black pen on the skin of his wrist. It was a doodle, one that was made in the midst of boredom most likely. However, as the day had passed he could feel the point of a different kind of pen (perhaps a marker?) run over the area, leaving behind trails of colour that could hardly be hidden beneath the white of his shirt. When he had a moment to look during his lunch break, Greg could see that the original black had been blended into shades of dark blue and purple, the doodle itself taking the form of a rose of some sorts. At least, that's what he assumed it was.   
  
Romantic, he had thought with a fleeting smile, the drawing was pretty good too. Talented then. Greg could recall having spent hours before now watching intricate patterns take form on his skin in numerous colours and designs. He also knew he would happily do it again and again. There was always a tingling sensation accompanied by the press of a pen or brush, enough to elicit rather unmanly giggling fits if caught by surprise. On the odd occasion he would make a grab for his black felt tip pen or even the red biro he had rolling around his desk and scribble something himself; a smiley face was the usual doodle and it was his way of saying that he was there. Besides that usually he'd make little notes, dates, places, usually for his own benefit in regards to cases he was on. It was often forgotten that he wouldn't be the only one reading them.   
  
"Freak's here," came a voice from the DI's office door, Greg glancing up to see his co-worker Sally Donovan looking exceptionally unimpressed. "Don't know why you keep indulging him, you know he just causes trouble."  
  
The 'freak' in question was none other than Sherlock Holmes; the world's one and only consulting detective. Well, that's what he told everyone he was, the consulting detective who usually was tailed by his faithful blogger John Watson. The dynamic duo had been helping Greg for the last four years, but Sherlock had been there for the seven prior. Eleven years of association and even now his team and the detective couldn't get along for more than five minutes provided the latter doesn't open his mouth.   
  
Greg's job was a tough one at the best of times.  
  
"Come on now, Sal'. You know he's harmless." He rolled his eyes at her scowl before rising to his feet, running a hand through his salt and pepper locks and adjusting his shirt sleeve so it covered the colourful display as best as it could.   
  
"For how long though, sir?" Sally replied with a huff, hands on her hips as she watched her boss adjust his attire. "How long until he's not the detective but the-"  
  
"How long until _what_ , exactly?" Sherlock asked as he swept past Sally into the office, head held high with a regal sort of aura. He arched a brow at Greg then glanced to the Sergeant with a narrowed eye. "Having a little joke are we, Donovan?"   
  
Holding up his hand to stop the oncoming storm from Sally, Greg walked around his desk and sat on it to eye the other man curiously. He had only seen Sherlock that morning so for him to show up at the station, without John no less, was a mystery. He didn't kid himself into thinking it was to sign any forms. "Sherlock," he greeted with a friendly smile, "how can we help you, sunshine? Something the matter?"  
  
"Gavin I do believe that's the most observant I've seen you, very astute." His tone was condescending as usual, but there was a glimmer of something in the detective's eye that caused Greg to not rise to the baited comment. It was almost... nerves?   
  
"Oi, you know his name's not-"  
  
"You solved a case only this morning," the DI reasoned and watched the irritation burn in the man's eyes, his lips curling into a frown in response. He watched as Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal of the fact, eyes rolling.  
  
"Lestrade, that was this morning. I require a case by tonight or else I will have to endure something most horrid and I refuse to be subjected to it as result of your lack of cooperation. There has to be some case you imbeciles couldn't crack? Or something new?"   
  
"Insulting us isn't going to make us help you." Sally added helpfully from the doorway before being shot a glare from Sherlock and a look from Greg that said 'shut it'.   
  
Greg stood up and shifted his weight, arms folding over his chest firmly as he looked the detective up and down. He was shuffling, eyes flitting about as he scowled and rolled his eyes. A stroppy teenager was what he was reminded of almost immediately.   
  
"Look, whatever it is we can help if you tell us. Or tell me, if you don't want Sally here to know." The look of betrayal was one Greg chose to ignore, gesturing for her to leave in order to get Sherlock to open up.   
  
There was a moment of silence after Sally shut the door (more like slammed) and left the pair to their devices.   
"I believe you have had the misfortune of meeting my brother, Mycroft?" The name rolled off of his tongue with a bitter taste, one that made him grimace.   
  
Tall, auburn hair, freckles, suits, arrogant bastard with a sly grin and some surprisingly sharp teeth? How could Greg forget the _gorgeous_ bastard. He had met the man in question about ten years ago at an abandoned car park in god knows where. Those cold eyes had studied him in silence, the only words spoken being questions as to his intentions with Sherlock. It had been terrifying, but Greg could remember how he had nearly punched the bloke before he had gotten a word in. Ever since, the pair were in regular contact, from exchanging e-mails to eventual texts and the odd phone call. As the years went on, they had become friendly enough to stop making meetings awkward, it was pleasant enough.   
  
"Don't tell me you're causing such a fuss because big brother's popping over for a cuppa?"  
  
"It's not the fact he's popping over, it's the purpose of his visit!" Sherlock hissed with another grimace, looking as though he was ready to throw up. "If you don't step in and help me, Inspector, there will be a murder this night. Do your job and keep me from attacking my brother in cold blood!"   
  
"Alright alright calm down," Greg let out a huff of laughter at the theatrics, shaking his head as he was glared down at harshly. "Why can't John rescue you?"  
  
"He is... busy tonight. Date night." There was an undertone of what sounded like sadness and Greg felt a bit of sympathy for the guy, knowing how he felt rather alone when John was seeing some bird. "But you _have_ given me an idea."  
  
That never was a good thing.  
  
"Detective, I believe you owe me a favour-"  
  
Oh no.  
  
"-Would you... accompany me for dinner tonight?"  
  
This was going to be... wait, dinner?   
  
"I believe your company will deter my brother's antics if only for a night."  
  
Well, on the plus side Greg hadn't seen Mycroft in about a month so it would be nice to see him again. On the downside, dinner with two Holmes brothers who were renown for fighting could be trouble in itself.   
  
"Plus I know your intention was to sit in front of the television tonight eating something cheap. I, on the other hand, don't mind paying for your dinner tonight in exchange for company."  
  
If it had been anyone but Sherlock asking, Greg would have thought it was almost a date. A snort of amusement followed but he saw the offended look on Sherlock's face and apologised quickly.   
  
"You know what? Why not. Beats watching the replay of the footie again." Greg smiled, offering his hand to shake. "But, just to clarify, _you're_ paying for dinner."  
  
Sherlock took the Inspector's hand in his own and spotted the rose design on his wrist, quirking a brow and smiling a little before giving it a squeeze. "Of course, Graham."  
  
"Greg."  
  
"Right. I expect you to come at five, no earlier, no later."


	2. Dinner, Sentiment, The Penny Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg heads over to Baker Street as Sherlock requested. However, upon arriving he learns the true intent behind Mycroft's visit. The penny drops at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here's a longer chapter than anticipated but my muse decided to RUN with this! I hope you guys enjoy?

Greg sighed as he looked himself in the bathroom mirror, a hand ruffling his damp hair in the hopes of making it look a little more natural. Why on earth he was dressing up for dinner with Sherlock Holmes he had no clue. Well, perhaps he did. Perhaps it was the fact that Mycroft Holmes would be joining them.   
  
Mycroft was a gentleman of a distinguished nature. The Ice man, Greg could recall hearing him being called by a few people on a visit to the Diogenes club; an exclusive club of which the elder Holmes lad was the co-founder. Cold, calculating, incredibly intelligent in a way that dazzled the DI without fail. There was a sort of beauty to him, from the way his brows would curve expectantly or the way he could get someone to submit with the slightest shift of his tone. He could remember the Ice man himself looking down his nose at him, a smirk playing on those lips as he cooed out the words _don't make me order you._ It never failed to get him shivering, well, beside other things.   
  
If he was to be honest with himself, he'd become captivated by the Ice man over the years. Hopelessly captivated. He was often left feeling guilty for this, the man being one of his few good friends. If Mycroft had deduced how he felt by now he hadn't said anything at least.   
  
Shaking himself out of his thoughts he felt the point of a pen and noticed that further up his arm there were random lines being drawn over the skin. Greg had seen this enough over the years to realise the person on the end of his soul bond was anxious. He felt a pang of guilt suddenly, as though him tidying up for some guy when his soulmate was out there fretting over some hardship. With a determined expression he walked out of the bathroom into his bedroom, reaching for the pen on top of his nightstand. Sitting down on the bed he thought for a moment, debating what he was going to do, before scribbling on the back of his hand a message.  
  
 _Tough times never last, but tough people do._  
  
Beside the message he put his signature smiley face, hoping that would at least be enough. As he placed the pen down he felt that familiar tingle and smiled, glancing to the other side of the message to see the smallest most delicate smiley in return. It was sweet. Then he felt something on his other wrist and blinked as another message showed up.   
  
_Work hard in silence, let your success be your noise._  
  
Smiling, Greg stood up and stroked a finger over those words. He felt somewhat comforted by the knowledge he had somebody waiting out there. Slapping on his leather jacket he grabbed his keys and headed to the door.   
  


* * *

  
Pulling up to 221b Baker Street Greg parked his car and took a peek at the time. It was five minutes past five and he knew he was in for a bollocking when he showed his face. Sherlock always was a stickler for time, even if he himself showed up unexpectedly or late.   
  
True enough, Sherlock could be seen lingering in the window with a frown on his face. When the pair locked eyes the detective tapped his wrist as though a watch was there and Greg gave an apologetic smile, wasting no time in hopping out of the car and making his way up to the flat. He could hear Mrs H listening to the telly downstairs and smiled fondly, it lingering until he was met with the thundering expression of the young man awaiting his arrival.  
  
"You're late, George."   
  
"It's Greg and you're not even trying now."  
  
"Whatever, Lestrade. Come on in, big brother's already here."  
  
As Greg was allowed to enter the room his eyes settled on the man sat in the chair that was usually John's. Holding up a hand and giving a wave the DI offered a warm smile and moved to sit in the client's chair. "Evenin' Mycroft," he hummed pleasantly, sighing as he sat with content.   
  
"Inspector," the man greeted as pleasantly as he could manage, his eyes narrowing a fraction at his brother which went unnoticed by the new arrival. There was an unspoken conversation between the two, the only giveaway being the twitch of a brow or the curling of lips.   
  
Poor Greg was oblivious.   
  
"So, what's on the menu tonight?" Greg chimed, slapping his own knees to create some sort of sound while the air filled with tension. "C'mon, Sherlock, you said you were paying."  
  
"But you were late!"  
  
"We had a deal!" The silver haired man flashed a wolfish grin, eyes glinting as he looked to the door then back to the detective. _You asked me here and used dinner as an excuse, if I leave now it's only gonna be worse for you._ That was the message in his grin and the way Sherlock scowled was his reward.

"You did give your word, brother mine."  
  
The begrudging mutter of 'fine' followed by the stomping footfall into the kitchen made Greg laugh into a fist while Mycroft gave a bemused but fleeting smirk. The kind that vanished if you blinked.   
  
"My brother did not tell me you would be joining us, Inspector."   
  
"Mycroft, I have to listen to your brother refuse to call me by name and it's not happening with you. Not now. It's Greg outside of business, yea'? Ten years would warrant a first name friendship, right?"   
  
Mycroft Holmes was not easily shocked. He was as sturdy as stone, cold as ice, but the way Greg looked at him in a chastising manner and practically pouted had him smiling and shaking his head in dismay. Didn't that man realise just what kind of effect he had? It was almost dangerous. After all, Mycroft reasoned with himself, if he were to be considered _attached_ to the DI it could be dangerous. That's what he'd told himself ten years ago when this had begun and look where they were now.   
  
Ah yes, Gregory had no clue but he was the sole person (besides his brother in their youth) to witness a persona different to the Ice man. This persona was the type to enjoy wine by the fire, talking softly and letting his voice rumble that little bit lower in his throat. Who enjoyed the small talk between contemplative sips or simply enjoyed curling up in his favourite chair with a Tolkien novel. On the rare occasion Greg had been allowed to see this side to the man, usually when he had been (over)working at home and was due an update on his brother. Mycroft could never admit it but those moments were usually when he was running low on energy, seeking companionship even for a single evening enough to encourage him to rest and tackle the next day with double the vigour.   
  
It was in these quiet evenings Mycroft had found his relationship with Gregory to show its true colours. In the depth of his work, Mycroft was hardly a person to trifle with. The Inspector took no argument and was quite good at ensuring he took the break he most probably needed. Firm, but kind, he had slowly crept his way into Mycroft's life in the last ten years and now the government official couldn't imagine him not being there.   
  
"Of course, Gregory." He finally broke the silence that had fallen, an apologetic smile playing on his lips before it crumbled away to a worried frown. "I apologise for not being in touch, I am a little bit busy with... well." He motioned to the detective in the kitchen who was ringing the Indian restaurant nearby without consulting Greg on what he wanted. "I'm afraid my brother is in a rather difficult situation as result of a recent discovery."   
  
"Discovery?" Now Greg was worried as he leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin to stare at Mycroft intently. "What's happened? Any way I can help?"  
  
There was that half-hearted smile Greg hated seeing. It was false, trying to show strength in the face of trouble. He  wished that sometimes his friend would lean on him a little for support, he clearly needed it.   
  
"I'm afraid no one can help my brother now, he has given in to sentiment and is suffering as result." Mycroft explained woefully, eyes downcast as he waited for Greg to process what he had said.   
  
Sherlock had given in to sentiment? In layman's terms, that meant he had started to care about someone more than most. Right? Greg arched a brow as he thought about it, having prided himself on knowing Sherlock relatively well. There was nobody new in his life that he cared about, the only name that popped into his head... oh. His face fell as he realised.   
  
"John," he murmured and gave a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "'Course, he's been dating someone, ain't he? Mary, right? Christ."   
  
Mycroft nodded and folded one leg over the other, glancing over to the window as though he couldn't meet Greg's eye. Sherlock's happiness and safety was his priority, both men knew this, so to see the younger man trying to distract himself in whatever way he thought possible was considered somewhat of a failure to the elder Holmes brother. "Yes, Mary Morstan. Sherlock doesn't know how to adjust to change when it's minor, but for his flatmate to consider moving out has him somewhat heartbroken. Not that he would admit such of course, especially not to myself."   
  
Between Mycroft and Greg they had noticed Sherlock's growing affections for the ex army Captain and had hoped their relationship would turn out for the best. John had never been seen with any writing or evidence of a soul bond at all and he had never mentioned it to anyone, so they had assumed he was just private. Sherlock never let ink or paint touch his skin so they had hoped perhaps the pair matched up. But, it would appear life wouldn't play out as they had hoped. For now they had to keep an eye on him, if John eventually moving out triggered dangerous behaviour they would have to step in as they had many years ago.   
  
"I'll have a chat with him when we get a moment, Myc. I know it's pointless telling you not to worry but try, alright? We'll get him through it."   
  
"I hope so."  
  
"Tough times never last, Myc. Tough people do and Sherlock's a tough little bleeder."   
  
There was a pause and Mycroft watched Greg curiously, head tilting a fraction before he shook off what had come to mind as Sherlock waltzed back into the room. To the unobservant witness he was just as he usually was, haughty and brattish and wonderful in his intelligence as he surveyed the room. But, to people who had known him long enough it was clear to see he was struggling to maintain the persona he was putting up. He seemed unable to settle, like when he was bored without a case, but by the way he kept glancing to his brother he knew the purpose of his visit. Greg realised he was here as moral support for both brothers.   
  
"Why don't you sit yourself down, brother mine? I believe we have something that requires discussion."   
  
"There is nothing of the sort, Mycroft. I have a guest here, surely you have the decency to keep your mouth shut while he is here?" Sherlock sniffed and glowered down his nose at the seated man, hands delving into his dressing gown pockets as he threw himself down onto the sofa. He always was one for being a tough dramatic.   
  
"Sherlock," Greg chimed in with a sympathetic smile, trying to tread carefully as he knew the detective's temper could flare if he's pushed too far. "C'mon mate, you know you can talk to us-"  
  
"Oh can I?" The brunet growled, shooting the man a glare and holding a finger up to his brother who had opened his mouth to speak. "Don't pretend to know what's going on, Lestrade. It's a rather pathetic attempt to gain the attentions of-"  
  
"- _Sherlock_!" The DI's voice raised and he narrowed his gaze a little bit. "I'm not trying to upset you, you know that. But we've been here before, haven't we?"   
  
There was a stunned silence at Greg being so upfront, Sherlock appearing as though he didn't know whether to be hurt at the reminder or amused at the horror on his brother's face. It was as though Mycroft was scared of him going off the deep end. Never again he had vowed with the full intention to keep it that way.   
  
"As I said, you're trying to show off. Show that you care, show you're all good and kind just so you have a better shot." The detective wasn't going to drop this subject. Sure, he had known what Mycroft was intending to do here tonight but he also had his own intentions for the night.   
  
He'd seen these idiots dancing around each other for the last ten years, it was infuriatingly dull. They had never seen the writing or drawings matching on each other's skin, never made the connection. Sherlock had spotted it within the first couple years of them knowing each other, amongst drug filled hallucinations and arguments and fights with Mycroft Sherlock had noticed it. How could they not when they hadn't dealt with any of that?   
  
"Classic evasion little brother, but we aren't here to talk about Gregory. We're here to talk about you and to talk about John."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about!" Sherlock snapped, anger making his upper lip curl and Greg found himself making the comparison between him and a cornered animal. Frightened of the unknown. "John's planning to move in with his girlfriend, Mary. He'll leave, I'll look for a new flatmate, things will move on!" His fingernails dug into his wrist and he was hyper aware of what he'd been feeling, swallowing a thick lump in his throat. "It's not... it's not the end."  
  
"Of course it isn't mate," Greg sighed and stood, walking over to where the curly haired man was. Crouching, a hand came to tussle the locks that fell into his face before coming to rest on his shoulder and squeezing. "We don't have to talk about it much, but we just wanna make sure you're alright."  
  
"I'm _fine_." Sherlock jerked his shoulder from the Inspector's touch before glaring at the wall. "I didn't invite you here to take his side, I invited you to sort out your little crisis. Can't we talk about that?"  
  
Crisis? What was Sherlock talking about? Both Greg and Mycroft exchanged looks, the former's frown only getting deeper as he side eyed the detective.   
  
"What crisis?" He asked, voice lowering as he sat on the floor in front of him. "Come on, what've you spotted that I haven't? If you're so determined that something's wrong." Why did he feel a little defensive? "As far as I know I'm-"  
  
"I'm talking about you and Mycroft, Greg."   
  
Oh. The penny dropped and Greg felt his stomach knot as the younger man looked at him in bitter victory.   
  
"I'm talking about how you both are _soulmates_."


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this marks the final chapter of Roses and Smiley Faces! I am debating making this a series with oneshots and such, what do you guys think?
> 
> Enjoy the final chapter, please do let me know what you think!

They sat there in silence. Sherlock with his legs up on the couch, Greg on the floor and Mycroft in the client chair. The detective had a look of victory on his face, eyes glimmering as they shifted from the Inspector to the Government Official; both being rendered speechless in his eyes one of his bigger accomplishments.   
  
"Well?" He huffed and shifted his position, tucking a foot beneath him as he sat a little straighter, "isn't this the part where you two-"  
  
Mycroft's expression was aghast, eyes almost bulging as he stared his brother down. After a beat his face slipped into that infamous stoic mask, the 'Ice man' having entered the room in place of the concerned elder brother he had been. " _Sherlock Holmes._ "  
  
"What?" Came the defensive reply, the younger Holmes brother's expression barely shifting even if there was a slight flicker in his eye. "Like I told you, brother dear, I've been watching the pair of you for too long."   
  
"You do realise how big an accusation that is, don't you?" Greg cut in, rising from his spot on the floor to return to his chair. He appeared to be the most jittery, leg almost immediately bouncing on the spot as he ran a hand through his hair. "It's huge, Sherlock. You can't just throw out theories-"  
  
"But it _isn't_ a theory!" Sherlock's voice raised an octave and he glared at them both. Silence followed and he threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "You are both idiots. You can find out right now if Lestrade would remove his damn jacket, you'd see for yourselves!"   
  
The mention of the ink staining his skin caused Greg to clutch his jacket a little firmer, it serving as a safety blanket at that moment to guard him from questioning and accusatory eyes. He should be thrilled at the potential that his soulmate was sat close by, shouldn't he? He should be throwing off his jacket to compare, yet he made no move to do so. Fear clutched to the corner of his mind as he looked at Mycroft, seeing the same reflecting back at him in those gorgeous eyes.   
What was he afraid of?   
  
There across from him was Mycroft Holmes, the British Government himself, who he'd known for eleven long years. His friend, the man he'd been longing for for the better half of those years, the man who'd seen him at his best and his worst. Potential soulmate. Despite the knowledge that this could be all he'd dreamed of he was terrified, the icy grip of his past causing panic to rise in his throat. Had his failed marriage shaken him that bad? Cheryl, his ex-wife, had said he was never giving enough. He wasn't there enough. He wasn't enough. Her words had cut him to the core, just as much as seeing her in the arms of another man on their marital bed.   
  
"Come on, Lestrade, show us!" Sherlock hounded, breaking the man from his thoughts and grinning at the obvious discomfort. The perfect distraction indeed. "Prove me right."  
  
" _Sherlock,_ " Mycroft hissed, eyes narrowing a fraction to silence him before his gaze fell upon Greg. He made a point out of never deducing personal factors of his good friend, his only friend, but at that moment his urge to break that rule was overwhelming. He wanted to know what he thought, what had suddenly gagged him and forced him into silence. "Gregory?"  
  
Gregory. God, Greg thought as he met his eyes and gave an uncertain smile, there wasn't any getting out of this was there? Not without the potential destruction of a friendship crafted over years.   
  
"I, uh, Myc-" He took a deep breath, counting to three before exhaling slowly. Bite the bullet, he urged himself, what's the worst that could happen? They could be laughing about this over a whiskey in a few weeks time. "Whatever Sherlock wants-"  
  
"-Sherlock gets... however begrudgingly."  
  
It was a joke between them by now, the youngest member of the trio giving a growl of warning as result. He was a brat at the best of times, Greg had recalled commenting one night over a drink and after that they had never let it go.   
  
Slowly, the black leather jacket was pulled away from the Inspector and he shivered at the touch of cold air against his skin. Beneath he was wearing a white tank top, loose enough to show off the slightly tanned skin from his time abroad in recent weeks. Surely enough along his right arm black ink covered what was usually empty space, stretching up to his elbow before abruptly stopping as though the artist had run out of space. Dark blues and purples covered the ones closest to his wrist before fading out, little lines of agitation drawn in areas where there was enough space.   
  
Turning his arm a little for further inspection and ignoring Sherlock's huff of amusement he looked at where those kind words had been written only the hour before. _Work hard in silence, let success be your noise._ Those words brought no comfort to him now as he looked between the Holmes brothers, swallowing down the nervous babble that threatened to erupt. He had to stay calm, this would just be a misunderstanding.   
  
"No use in arguing."   
  
The sudden movement of Mycroft rising to his feet made him stiffen, eyes wide as the suit jacket he was wearing slowly slid off of slim shoulders. Cuffs were undone, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and Greg was met with the sight of colour. Black, blue, purple, along with words plastered in red biro where the design began. _Tough times never last, but tough people do._ The man's expression was unreadable but Greg's was far from it, astonishment, fear, joy, confusion, it was a quick fire of emotion that was hard to keep up with.   
  
There was a sense of relief that coursed through their hearts in unison, a shy sort of smile being exchanged between them. _Found you_ it said, _I've found you and I wont let you go._   
  
"I told you that you two were both idiots."   
  
Sherlock's suddenly rather quiet comment caused them to snap out of the moment, turning to face the man as the doorbell rang for their food. A brief glance was made, a silent promise for a later discussion, then their focus was on the detective who had brought them together.   
  


* * *

  
Greg stepped out into the night air with a sigh, tugging his leather jacket over his shoulders and shivering. It was the early hours of the morning, about two, and it was a twenty minute drive back to his flat. There was still time for a beer before bed, then he'd process what had happened that night.   
  
Sherlock was currently in a delicate state, one to be put on the watch list, as result of John moving away. He and Mycroft had discovered their true soulmate. The trio had made plans for future cases to keep Sherlock distracted and now he was standing outside and feeling like he was walking on air.  
  
Beside him, Mycroft gave a shudder at the chill in the air and turned to smile warmly at the DI. It was nervous, the glitter of anxiety in his eye doing nothing to dull the care that was there. He parted his lips to speak and found no words there, closing them again and giving a sheepish chuckle. "We have a lot to talk about."  
  
"You could say that," Greg admitted with a chuckle, patting the man's shoulder and seeing him relax visibly. "But for now I just want to get to bed and sleep, we can work things out as they come, right?"  
  
"Indeed... Goodnight, Gregory Lestrade."  
  
Mycroft's car had pulled up and the man made a move to leave, pausing outside of the car door and glancing over his shoulder. There was a debate had before Mycroft walked back over to Greg who had begun to walk to his own car. A gentle hand clasped over Greg's bicep and guided him to turn, lips pressing themselves to the man's temple and in that moment promising so much more. _We aren't finished here._ Before he could register the sensation it was gone, the auburn-haired man waving briefly before diving into his car and being driven away.   
  
Greg stood there dumbfounded, a silly little smile on his face as he unlocked his car door and sat in the driver's seat. His heart felt light, excitement tingling at his nerves when his phone buzzed with a text message.   
  
**I thought perhaps we could have dinner, as I said we have lots to discuss. How does Sunday sound? If it's acceptable I will forward you the necessary details tomorrow. - MH**  
  
 **It's a date. Goodnight Mycroft Holmes, safe journey back. X - GL**  
  
Love wasn't Greg's division. He'd made many mistakes, suffered through plenty of hardships but he was willing to try. For Mycroft, he would try. The future was looking up and for the first time in a while he liked the idea of not knowing what was going to happen. 


End file.
